


An Aubade in Prose

by ode_to_an_inkwell



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ode_to_an_inkwell/pseuds/ode_to_an_inkwell
Summary: After a private wedding night, Jon and Sansa share an intimate morning together before he must depart for battle.





	An Aubade in Prose

Sansa woke in Jon’s arms, sore and content. The fire had died down, and the chambers felt fractured with cold. She shyly peered up to meet his serene gaze, and he kissed her hair.

“When will you leave?” she asked carefully.

The mention of separation upset Jon's mood, as he wished to hoard his time with her. “The Night King won’t arrive until this evening. Let me spend the morning here with you.” His thumb began to tickle her ribcage. “I want to remember this.”

She wriggled away with a white grin. “I thought last night was memorable.”

Jon rolled so that he hovered over her, then pressed his mouth to her ear. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound of your howls."

“Wouldn’t you want to hear them again, just to be certain?” she asked with a shiver.

He gave a throaty chuckle before sealing another kiss into her skin. “First let me get a fire going, love."

He prodded the bed of embers while Sansa brushed out the ends of her hair and wove them into a thick plait. No bird songs played in the air, only the silent fall of gentle flakes. Jon created a symphony of sparks as she watched the snow. When she finished her braid she felt Jon’s fingers skimming her shoulder-blades. He sat behind her and wrapped his arms around her torso so she felt his heartbeat against her spine. It reverberated down her vertebrae and around her ribcage, until Sansa's own heart sputtered to match the tempo. He perched his chin upon her shoulder to whisper words of adoration, and all Sansa could do was smile.

“Do you think I’m with child yet?” she asked, pressing his hands upon her belly.

Jon emitted a low growl. “I like the thought of that too much.”

“Too much for what?” she inquired.

“For decency, woman.”

She laughed before turning to whisper, “Who said I wanted to be decent?”

They made love in a mad euphoria. She mounted him, but Jon imagined her climbing upon her throne, his heart her loyal subject. He reached for her waist and encouraged her, swinging her hips into him. Her back arched, and she began mewling. Jon wrapped her plait around his hand twice, using it to pull her head all the way back and expose her throat to him. Her nails raked up his shoulder blades. Sansa began to shudder. Jon’s free arm cradled her tightly and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She held him against her as they both rocked and trembled. Another deep thrust sent Sansa gasping for air, her muscles coiled for release.

“Jon!” she wailed.

He groaned into her throat, clutching her to himself in appetition. Jon didn’t think he could ever release her. No lark called his mind away. He was enchanted by his wife's song, scored by the crackle of flames which danced in her copper hair. She was his warmth and his light. She was the fire of his life.


End file.
